


no time to hesitate

by Rainne



Series: Thank-You Fics [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Up all night to get Bucky (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: In which Sam finds his soulmate and then his life becomes rather exciting.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: Thank-You Fics [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/261115
Comments: 13
Kudos: 138
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	no time to hesitate

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of my Thank-You Fics, so called because they have been written as thank-you gifts to people who donated to my late mother's cancer fund, which helped to pay for her treatments and end-of-life care.
> 
> I am no longer accepting donations or prompts for these fics, but there are still several to come.

“On your left.”

Sam nearly trips at the sound of those words, but before he can react, the speaker – a big white guy with blond hair – is past him and gone. The guy is fast. _Super_ fast.

Sam keeps jogging the Tidal Basin path in hopes that the guy will slow down at some point and Sam can say something back, just to see.

In front of the Jefferson memorial, it happens again: “On your left.”

The guy’s just _lapped_ Sam, running flat out, on a four mile course. Sam nearly stumbles again out of sheer surprise.

Surely not.

And yet…

“On your left.”

This time they’re in front of the Lincoln Memorial, and Sam manages to get words out. “Yeah, uh huh, on my left, got it.”

The guy trips and goes down, rolling on the concrete, before coming up again, facing Sam. “What did you say?”

“I _said,_ ” Sam replies, coming to a halt, “that I got it; you’re on my left. You’re on track to do something like thirteen miles in thirty minutes, though; I wouldn’t want to interrupt your groove there.”

And the guy smiles, big and bright like the noonday sun. “I don’t mind it a bit,” he says. Then he holds out a hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that,” Sam replies, grinning back. He shakes Steve’s hand. “Sam Wilson.”

“It’s _really_ nice to meet you, Sam,” Steve says.

When Steve takes his hand back – slowly, as though reluctant to let go – Sam sees his own cramped scrawl on Steve’s arm. He reaches back again. “Can I see…?”

“Sure,” Steve replies immediately, and he holds out his arm.

Sam runs a finger across the words there. “That’s amazing,” he says softly. “The things you kinda never really think you’ll see.”

“Can I?” Steve asks, and Sam turns around, hiking up the back of his shirt so that Steve can see where his own Palmer script crosses Sam’s back. Steve huffs a soft laugh, his finger tracing the words. “I won a prize in school once for having the best penmanship in class. I’m glad to see it carried over.”

Sam laughs, dropping his shirt and turning back around. “Well, Steve, what do you say we take this somewhere else? Like maybe that diner at the end of the park? They make killer home fries.”

“That sounds great,” Steve replies, and they start walking in that direction.

Breakfast is unfortunately interrupted by the arrival of Natasha Romanoff, but they exchange numbers and Steve promises to call as soon as he’s back in town after the mission he’s about to head out on.

Sam watches him go from the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. A little old lady, passing in front of him, pauses and takes in his expression. “You’ve got the look of somebody that just did something important,” she says.

He turns his grin on her. “Just met my soulmate,” he tells her.

“Well, God bless you,” she replies. “I met my Harold sixty-four years ago next month and to this day it’s just as good as it was in the beginning.” She reaches out and pats his arm. “I hope you’re as lucky as I am.”

He swallows hard at that. “Thank you, ma’am,” he tells her. “And congratulations on the upcoming anniversary.”

She pats his arm again and then continues on down the street.

Sam stretches out and then commences his jog back to his car on the other side of the Mall.

~*~

Steve doesn’t call; instead, he shows up, Romanoff in tow.

What are you supposed to do when your soulmate tells you everyone he knows is trying to kill him except for you?

~*~

Sam nearly swallows his tongue when Steve tells him that the assassin who’s trying to kill them is Bucky Barnes. Steve explains about pulling Bucky off the table in Zola’s lab back during the war and Sam realizes at the same time Steve does that Zola must have been experimenting with the super serum and tried it out on Barnes. That would certainly explain how Barnes survived. But why the hell would _Bucky Barnes_ be working for HYDRA and trying to kill Steve?

“You sure it’s not a clone?” he asks Steve once they’re safe in Hill’s transport and heading to whatever secret bolthole she’s aiming for.

Steve bites his lip, looking like the idea didn’t occur to him. “No,” he admits. “But… I’d know if I got close enough to him. Bucky had – has – a scar over his right eyebrow. A clone wouldn’t have that.”

“You’re right,” Sam agrees. “So the next time you get close to him, you look for that. If you’re not too busy trying not to get yourself killed.”

~*~

It’s not a clone.

All Sam can think is _holy shit_.

~*~

Fury fades into the trees above his own empty grave, and Steve glances over at Sam. “You didn’t sign up for this,” he says, “And I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be a part of it.”

“Dude,” Sam says, “I’m not leaving you to do this by yourself.” He claps Steve on the shoulder. “When do we start?”

“We just did,” Steve says, flipping open the folder Romanoff gave him.

Sam looks at the pictures of Bucky at the front of the folder and feels very, very grim.

~*~

Despite Steve’s optimistic declarations, the truth is that they have no way of knowing where or how to begin. Steve’s a fighter and Sam’s a medic; neither one of them knows anything about hunting down a trained assassin who’s capable of simply vanishing into the wild without leaving a trace of himself behind. They are forced to wait – and wait – and wait – while Hill and the small but loyal team of analysts that are all that remains of SHIELD work to find any information they can that might give Steve and Sam a direction to go in.

It takes weeks, and Steve is fractious the whole time. Not that Sam’s much better, but he keeps his upset mostly on the inside. Steve moves into the house with Sam, since his apartment is no longer habitable, and having him there all the time is great, but it’s also desperately _distressing._

Steve’s entire being is focused on Bucky; he spends his days working out and pestering Hill, reading and rereading that file, and Sam is man enough to admit it: he’s jealous. He wants Steve to focus on _him_ with the same laser intensity that he focuses on Bucky.

And it doesn’t help that Steve has never said what the nature of his relationship with Bucky really was. He knows the story, of course: schoolyard to battlefield, brothers in arms, et cetera; he doesn’t know what’s behind the story. And there’s always more to the story.

This goes on for some time: Steve is totally focused on Bucky and Sam is totally focused on not sabotaging the search for Bucky out of fear and jealousy. And then one day Steve comes home from a run with a funny look on his face.

“I’m screwing this up,” he says, and Sam raises an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t think there’s much for you to screw up,” Sam says. “It’s everybody else doing the heavy lifting right now; all you have to do is hurry up and wait.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Steve says. He pauses, then looks down at himself. “Let me take a shower before I screw this up even more. I’d like to hug you, but I’m really gross.”

Sam laughs. “I’ll make some sandwiches.”

“That would be great.” Steve looks pathetically grateful and carries himself off to the bathroom to make himself less gross.

By the time Steve comes back out, Sam has made tuna salad sandwiches as well as cold cut sandwiches and has put them on the table along with a couple cans of Pringles and a pitcher of good sweet tea. They sit down to eat, and Steve does something he’s never done before: he reaches out with his foot and rests it against the side of Sam’s foot. “I’m screwing this up,” he says again, but his voice is soft this time.

Sam puts his sandwich down, and Steve does the same, reaching across the table to take Sam’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Sam swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. “What brought this on?” he manages.

“Natasha tracked me down on my run, and she asked how things were going with you,” Steve confesses. “And I suddenly realized that I didn’t actually know. I’ve been so caught up in hunting for Bucky that I totally forgot that there are other considerations in my life right now.”

“I understand,” Sam begins, but Steve squeezes his hand gently and shakes his head.

“I appreciate that you do, but I don’t want you letting me off the hook for this,” he says. “You’re my soulmate, and I owe you more than this. You deserve more than this. More than me.”

Sam’s mouth drops open, his heart suddenly galloping up to double-time. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Steve gapes. “No!”

“Okay,” Sam says, trying to calm himself down. “It’s just – when people say _you deserve better than me,_ they usually mean they’re breaking up with you.”

“Not a chance,” Steve says, tangling his fingers with Sam’s. “Not a single, solitary chance. You’re my soulmate and I’m possessive as hell.”

Sam laughs. “All right, then,” he says. “As long as you’re not about to do something stupid.”

“Oh, I’m probably going to do a lot of stupid things,” Steve replies easily. “In fact, I’ve _been_ doing something stupid. Ignoring you in favor of a job I can’t even do right now. I’ve been so…”

“Yeah, you have,” Sam agrees. “But I understand why.” He holds up a finger. “I’m not letting you off the hook, here. I’m just saying I get it.”

Steve smiles gently. “Well… I’m sorry. For forgetting that you’re here and you need me.”

“Here’s the thing,” Sam says. “I don’t think you did forget. Because you’ve been leaning on me this whole time. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing; it’s not. We’re meant to lean on each other, you know? So you’ve been leaning on me because _you_ needed _me._ But you’re right – I need you, too, and I need to know you’re gonna be here for me.” He pauses, then says, “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” Steve replies immediately.

Sam nods. “What’s… You and Bucky, what’s your… were you ever…?”

Steve blinks, then gets it. “Together, you mean?” he asks. When Sam nods, he says, “No.”

Sam feels a weight lift off his shoulders. “Oh, thank God.”

Steve boggles at him. “Uh?”

Sam laughs. “I’ve been so worried about whether or not you two were together. Whether I was gonna have to…” He pauses, struggling to find words, and he sobers as he finally manages, “…have to step aside.”

“Never.” Steve shakes their joined hands. “Never, Sam. Bucky and me, we’re forever, but we’re not like that. We never were. For one thing, he doesn’t like men that way.” Steve shrugs. “If anything, I’d say Bucky’s like my brother. Only closer. We practically lived in each other’s pockets for twenty years. I know everything about him, and he knows everything about me. And you don’t ever have to worry that he would try to take your place.”

Sam nods, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he says, and to his horror he realizes he’s tearing up. “Okay,” he says again. “Thanks for… for letting me know.”

A moment later, Steve is around the table and pulling Sam up and into his arms. “God, Sam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hate that I made you feel this way; I hate that I made you worry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, his hands gripping hard at the back of Steve’s shirt as he holds on tight. “Well, it’s okay now,” he clarifies with a soggy laugh. “As long as you don’t forget me again.”

“I can’t promise I won’t get lost in the search,” Steve warns. “Especially once we have a direction to go in. But I promise I won’t forget you again.” He reaches up, cupping Sam’s cheek with his hand, and runs his thumb under Sam’s plush lower lip. “Can I kiss you?”

Sam smiles. “You know you can,” he murmurs.

Steve does, then; he leans in and presses his lips to Sam’s, soft and sweet and full of love and promise. “I’ve let our relationship fall by the wayside,” he says when he draws back. “That’s not going to happen again. God, I haven’t even told you – ”

“Told me what?” Sam asks, and Steve just laughs, leaning in to kiss him again.

Steve’s stomach growls, and Sam laughs as well. “All right, we can finish eating now.”

That night, instead of spending his time going over Bucky’s file and the little bits of intel Hill has been able to find, Steve sprawls on the sofa with Sam and wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulders and they watch _The Fast and the Furious._ They actually talk for the first time ever, really _talk._

“I know parts of things about you,” Steve says during a lull in the action, “but I don’t know enough. I haven’t asked enough.”

“Well, what do you want to know?” Sam asks.

Steve thinks about it. “Tell me about the games you used to play when you were a boy.”

~*~

Steve is as good as his word. The search for Bucky doesn’t stop, but it takes on a more controlled quality, and Sam gets time with Steve every night now. They haven’t had sex yet – they honestly haven’t known each other well enough for that – but they make out a lot, and they tell each other stories. Steve talks about what school was like when he was a kid, and how half the time he and Bucky didn’t even go; Sam talks about running the streets wild with his sister after school and on the weekends, riding their bicycles all over the neighborhood and sometimes farther than they should have into places they didn’t need to be.

Steve talks about working in a factory and how the union went on strike and there was a riot in which two scabs got killed; Sam talks about his first job working in a grocery store that actually closed down when the workers unionized.

Steve tells Sam about his Ma and his Dad and how hard Sarah worked after Joseph died to keep them in food and housing and clothing, how hard it was for her to make enough money to keep body and soul together. “I started selling newspapers when I was about eight,” he tells Sam. “Not every day, but often enough. I’d bring home a dollar a week if I was good at it – and I tried real hard to be good at it.” Sam talks about growing up middle class with a preacher for a dad and a teacher for a mom and how Paul and Darlene tried their best to raise him right. “And instead they raised a parajumper,” Sam says, and Steve laughs because he knows exactly what Sam means.

They talk about how they discovered their liking for men; Sam knew from childhood that he was exclusively gay, and Steve discovered his bisexuality much to his surprise at the age of twenty-three.

They talk, and they talk, and they talk some more. And somewhere in the late nights, in movies and dinners and slow dances to quiet music, Sam finds himself falling in love with the man whose writing marks his skin.

Then it happens:

Hill calls in the middle of the afternoon and she says “We’ve found him” and Steve looks at Sam and says “Suit up” and their quiet idyll is over, just like that.

~*~

When they finally find him in Bucharest, things don’t go the way Sam expected.

Honestly, Sam’s not sure _what_ he expected, but Bucky pretending he didn’t know Steve was definitely not what Sam expected. Not that it really matters; Steve is not fooled even for a second, and within half an hour Bucky is admitting the truth: he _does_ remember Steve and he _does_ remember… well… everything.

“Everything?” Sam asks, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Everything. Except you; who the hell are you?”

“Bucky, this is Sam,” Steve says. “My soulmate.”

Bucky blinks in surprise. “Well, that’s new.”

“Right?” Steve replies, laughing softly. “You’ll get along well; he doesn’t let me get away with my bullshit.”

“Well thank God for that,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t do it all by myself.” And that’s as much as anything a tacit admission that he’s going to quit running, that he’s going to come back with Steve and Sam, and Sam has to admit to himself that he’s grateful. The last few months of traveling, following leads that mostly led to smoking holes where HYDRA bases used to be, have been hard, though harder on Steve than Sam. Sam’s mostly just along for the ride.

Steve wants Bucky to come back to their hotel; it’s a damn sight better than the flop he’s been staying in. Bucky considers this for a long time. Finally he looks at Steve. “It’s home,” he says softly. “Has been for awhile.” Then he pauses. “Remember that place we stayed on Orange Avenue? When we had that little attic room all to ourselves?”

Steve laughs. “God that place was like a palace compared to the one on Gunther Street.”

And before Sam can even begin to feel left out, Bucky turns to him. “We rented a room in a flop on Gunther Street,” he says, stamping on a floorboard and pulling his go bag out of the resulting hole. “It was in a tenement building that was mostly Italian immigrants. They didn’t speak much English and we didn’t speak any Italian – well, that’s not true, Steve could swear with the best of them – and we slept on a blanket pallet on the floor in the main room. The Italian family that had the lease on the place all slept in the bedroom – there was seven of them all crammed into that tiny room – and we had the floor by the window.”

“And the window leaked,” Steve added, looking around the room. “What else do you want to bring with you?”

Bucky shrugged his backpack onto his back and shakes his head. “Nothing else here I can’t replace,” he says, and he heads for the door. “So yeah,” he says, slinging an arm around Sam’s shoulders like they’ve been best friends their whole lives. “The window leaked, and of course Stevie got sick in the winter if you looked at him cross-eyed, so that whole winter he stayed with a cold. Honestly, though, we were lucky; that cold was the only thing he had all winter.”

“It was a good winter,” Steve muses, pulling the door shut behind him.

“The summer wasn’t bad,” Bucky adds. “We took our blankets up onto the roof and laid out under the stars.”

“You could see stars in New York?” Sam asks, astonished.

“Less light pollution,” Steve says, coming up on Sam’s other side and taking his hand.

“More coal smoke, though,” Bucky muses.

~*~

After a few days at the hotel in Bucharest, Steve convinces Bucky to come to DC. Once Bucky agrees, Sam brings up a problem. “Do you even have paperwork, man?” he asks. “You’ve gotta have a passport and a visa and all that to fly.”

Bucky laughs. “I’ve got everything I need. How do you think I got _out_ of DC in the first place?”

“Oh, good point,” Sam says. “Didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, I got fake papers from a HYDRA resupply and hightailed it out of town at the first opportunity.”

“You can fly with that arm?” Sam asks.

Bucky nods. “Long sleeves and gloves,” he says. “The arm’s made out of a vibranium alloy, so it doesn’t set off metal detectors.”

“Nice,” Sam comments, impressed.

“So yeah,” Bucky says. “We can go whenever.”

~*~

Sam only has the one spare bedroom, so Steve moves into Sam’s room to make room for Bucky. This is okay by Sam; they finally started having sex while they were traveling and Sam is pretty sure super soldier stamina is a gift from the gods. He has to learn to keep it down, though.

The first morning after they get back, he stumbles out of the bedroom to make coffee only to find it already made, and a rumpled-looking Bucky standing in the kitchen all but guzzling it. “You okay, man?” Sam asks, taking in the roughness around Bucky’s edges.

Bucky glares. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Bed too soft?” Sam asks, knowingly.

“Roommates too loud,” Bucky replies acidly, and Sam feels his whole face go hot with embarrassment.

“Sorry, man,” Sam says, covering his face with one hand. “I’ll, uh. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, still a little sharp. He finishes his coffee and rinses the cup, sticking it in the dishwasher. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”

~*~

Sam’s life takes a turn after that. It’s not _bad_ per se, but it’s _weird_ , because all of a sudden in addition to being soulmates with a bona fide World War II veteran and superhero, he’s apparently acquired a new best friend in the form of a bona fide World War II veteran and super-assassin.

He finds himself dragged along as Bucky explores the new century; a coffeeshop here, an ice cream parlor there. The library, the museum, the dog park. They go everywhere together, and Sam starts to realize what it must have been like for Steve, growing up as he once said with himself and Bucky in each other’s back pockets.

He would honestly wonder whether Bucky was angling for a threesome if it wasn’t for Steve’s assurance that Bucky was totally straight. “It’s just how people acted, when… you know, back in our day. Men weren’t so scared of being close with other men.” He considers. “Honestly, I think it was probably easier to be queer back then. As long as you didn’t flaunt it in public, nobody thought a thing about two men being best friends or renting a flat together or anything like that.”

Sam has to think about that. Easier to be queer in the thirties and forties? He has trouble believing it, but… at the same time…

Well. Steve would know, wouldn’t he?

Bucky gets noticeably nervous the first time Steve and Sam walk down the street hand-in-hand.

“You sure it’s okay, pal?” he asks Steve in an undertone.

“I’m sure,” Steve promises him. “Nobody thinks anything about it. And if they do, mostly they keep it to themselves.”

“Mostly,” Bucky repeats darkly.

Steve shrugs. “There’s always assholes, Buck, you know that.”

“The worst it usually gets is people saying stuff,” Sam says. “And mostly nobody has the guts to say anything to your face. They talk about you behind your back, that’s all.”

“Usually,” Bucky repeats, even more darkly.

Sam gives him a gentle cuff to the back of the head. “Tell you like my Mama used to tell me: don’t borrow trouble.”

Bucky laughs softly. “Yeah, Steve’s Ma used to say the same thing.”

“You worry too much, Buck,” Steve says. “Even if anybody tried to mess with me, well.” He gestures at himself. “I can take care of myself these days. So can Sam.”

“Hm,” Bucky says. “I will allow that this is probably true.”

Sam laughs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It’s just…” Bucky pauses, then says, “I know you can handle yourself. But not against five guys with chains and crowbars, you know?”

“That kind of thing…” Sam pauses, considering. “Well, I won’t say it never happens any more. But it’s really rare.”

Bucky nods. “And not in… not in nice neighborhoods like this?” he asks, uncertain.

“Well,” Sam says carefully, “anything can happen anywhere. But mostly not.”

Bucky nods. “Okay.” And he relaxes somewhat. He still keeps an eye out – that’s probably a holdover from his HYDRA days that will never go away, that hypervigilance – but he isn’t quite so heavy-handed about it.

~*~

The thing with Tony is definitely something Sam could have done without.

He understands why Steve felt compelled to tell Tony what he’d learned from Zola – and honestly feels like Steve should have done it sooner – but he also understands why Steve waited.

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve is saying to the very, _very_ angry Iron Man who’s standing in Sam’s living room looking ready to kill. Bucky’s standing at parade rest behind Steve, the expression on his face that of a man facing the guillotine.

“You should have told me!” Tony yells.

“I _am_ telling you!” Steve yells back.

“You should have told me _sooner_!”

“Well excuse me for wanting to confirm information before I passed it on!” Steve shouts. “I only had it from one source, and since that source was a _computer copy of Arnim Zola_ I wasn’t sure I believed it!”

There’s a long pause, and since they don’t seem like they’re going to come to fisticuffs (yet), Sam interposes himself between the two combatants. “Maybe,” he says in his best VA Counselor Voice, “we can all have a seat and talk instead of yelling.”

There’s another long pause before Steve and Tony, never letting go of their slightly belligerent eye contact, move to the furniture. Steve takes one of the armchairs; Tony gets the sofa. Bucky doesn’t move. Sam, sighing, seats himself on the coffee table. “Okay. Tony, what I hear you saying is that you wish Steve had brought you this information sooner, even though it was not necessarily vetted. You feel like you were entitled to this information because it relates to your family and your experiences.”

Steve starts to say something, but Sam holds up a hand to stop him. He waits for Tony to digest what he’s said, and finally, grudgingly, Tony nods.

Nodding back, Sam, turns to Steve. “And Steve, what I hear you saying is that you didn’t feel right about causing a bunch of potential upset and dredging up hurt feelings and emotions if it turned out that the information was based on a lie.”

Steve nods as well.

“And I hear you _both_ saying that while Bucky has admitted to doing what he did, he did it under duress and while _non compos mentis,_ and can’t really be held responsible for what he did when HYDRA basically made him do it – is that fair?”

Though Tony has actually said nothing of the sort, he pauses for a moment and – wonder of wonders – actually considers Sam’s words. He looks up at Bucky. “You killed my parents.”

“I know,” Bucky says, his voice soft. “And I’m sorry. Howard was my friend, too.”

“That… doesn’t really help,” Tony says.

Bucky inclines his head, acknowledging the point. “I wish I could undo it,” he says.

And suddenly, Tony looks very tired. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I do, too.”

~*~

They’ll never be friends, Tony and Bucky. And the burgeoning friendship between Steve and Tony is pretty damaged, too. But they at least don’t hate each other, and Tony is intrigued enough by Bucky’s metal arm that he’s invited Bucky to New York if he ever needs it looked at. Bucky accepts this with grace, recognizing it for the peace token that it is, and promises that he will come one day soon and let Tony tinker with it to his heart’s content.

Sam has seen the scarring; he has a feeling that letting Tony tinker with the arm will change Tony’s perspective on the whole issue. He has a feeling, also, that Bucky knows this.

~*~

That night, after Tony is gone, Steve and Sam lie in bed, wrapped around each other. “Today actually went better than I expected,” Steve admits quietly in the dark. “I was sure Tony would lose it and try to kill Bucky.”

“I was worried about that myself for a few minutes,” Sam admits. He rubs his palm up and down Steve’s back soothingly. “But he saw reason.”

“Thank God,” Steve breathes.

“And given time, he may… Well, no. Probably not.” Sam huffs. “I was going to say he may change his mind about Bucky and learn to like him, but that’s probably a bridge too far.”

Steve gives a soft laugh. “Yeah, probably,” he admits.

“Regardless,” Sam says, “you did right. I’m not sure I definitely agree with your decision to wait, but I understand why you did, and honestly, you may have been right to do it. I can’t say for sure; I can’t tell the future from the past.”

“You can’t?” Steve pulls back in mock horror. “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

Sam laughs, pulling Steve close again. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “My idiot.” He leans in and kisses Steve gently. “I ever tell you how glad I am you decided to lap me that day on the trail?”

Steve grins. “Not in so many words,” he says, “but I had the feeling like you probably were.”

Sam gives him a gentle pinch. “No wonder Bucky calls you a punk.”

And Steve has to laugh at that. “I love the new meaning of punk,” he says. “Because back in our day, it meant… well. It meant a guy who liked, you know, taking it.”

Sam’s eyes get huge. “You mean…”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning.

“ _Well_ ,” Sam says, grinning back. “That’s something worth exploring, don’t you think?” His hand strays down Steve’s side to the waistband of Steve’s boxer briefs.

“Oh,” Steve says, archly. “I definitely think it’s worth exploring.” He pauses, leaning in to kiss Sam thoroughly. “Only, you know, you might try to keep it down.”

Sam leans down to bite the side of Steve’s neck. “We’ll see who keeps who down,” he says, and rolls Steve onto his back. “Punk.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the Banned Together Bingo 2020 prompt "interracial relationships".


End file.
